


show me the side streets in your life.

by cereal



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: Choose Your Own Adventure, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-18
Updated: 2014-04-18
Packaged: 2018-01-19 21:30:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1484731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cereal/pseuds/cereal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All the good life skill lectures -- Gambling 101, Not Getting Cancer 210, Passive Aggression 301, maybe not, whatever, close enough -- were full up. (a choose-your-own-pairing Community camping trip fic -- there's a chapter for a Britta ending, and a chapter for an Annie ending.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was written before we knew Britta had a cat, not a dog, so that's not in here, and anything that's aired since isn't reflected either. Originally posted [here](http://cereal.livejournal.com/148012.html) in 2010.

Here's something Jeff's learned about community college: if you're there, there's nowhere else to go.

Maybe you're there to save up the money to transfer to some fancy, private university. Maybe you're there because you're, uh, 70 (Pierce) and have no idea where the fuck your high school transcripts are because they didn't have computers back then. Or ballpoint pens. Maybe you're there because there are surprisingly strict laws about practicing law.

Really, though, nobody cares why you're there. You just are. And you're stuck. So stuck that when your manic dean announces that a life skills class is now a requirement, there's literally no recourse. Take the class or leave.

(But, again, since you have nowhere to go, you're just going to take the class.)

This is how Jeff, and everyone he ever bothers to talk to, ends up in a goddamn camping class.

Annie, perfect, wonderful, organized Annie, was so stressed over a Spanish exam that she completely mixed up the date of registration. And since it's not like anyone else is going to pay attention to the important things, all seven of them ended up picking classes a full day late. All the good "life skill" lectures -- Gambling 101, Not Getting Cancer 210, Passive Aggression 301, maybe not, whatever, close enough -- were full up.

Jeff blew it on his role (lobbying against injustice using lawyer speak), too, so they were all just fucked.

(In retrospect, he should've seen the flaw in arguing against camping as a "life skill" because -- as the dean quickly pointed out -- at that point in Jeff's life when he was vaguely homeless, he could've using his skill at camping to not, oh, say, live in his car.)

&&.

The first day of camping class (this is Jeff's life now), they spend the whole hour literally in sleeping bags. There are no desks in the room, just a wide expanse of dirty, barely-tiled concrete. They each spend five minutes in a bag, write down their thoughts and move on to the next. It should be easy enough, except this happens:

Pierce doesn't sleep with clothes on. Before anyone can intercede, he's "field testing" his first bag totally naked. The professor, some visiting hippie, tells him, "That's not cool, or, like, sanitary, man." Pierce reluctantly listens on the subsequent bags, but the damage is done on that first one -- a purple, cushy thing that zips up all the way around your head.

No one wants to get in that bag after him and everyone does the reasonable thing and accepts that they're just going to lose five points from the assignment.

Everyone except Annie.

Once that announcement is made -- that there's a penalty for an incomplete -- Jeff sees her eying the bag. She darts over and is just reaching for the zipper when he hears himself and Britta yell out.

Annie glances up, but doesn't stop, she's moving, moving, kneeling -- oh god.

Britta's all the way across the room, panic face and feet tangled in a shiny, silver bag and Jeff's only got one option. He jumps over the lump of Abed and Troy in a two man bag and grabs Annie by the waist. He pulls her all the way up, her feet dangling inches above the ground.

She's squealing, writhing in his arms, and she's so fucking light and he forgets, briefly and suddenly, about Pierce's naked body sliding against purple nylon and thinks instead about Annie's body sliding against his own.

He drops her with a thud -- enough to bring him back to class and reality and containing a biohazard.

"It's not worth it, Annie." Jeff's trying to get across just how gross it is that Pierce was naked in that bag without actually bringing it up. (He doesn't need to suffer through another speech about Pierce's more-than-healthy body image. They're so frequent and so creepy.)

Jeff's expecting more of a fight -- maybe a speech of Annie's own, about dedicating yourself to your education -- but Annie's just staring at his chest. Before he can say anything else, Britta's finally there, grabbing Annie by the shoulders and then they fall into some synchronized, don't-you-ever-do-that-again parenting lecture.

It's weird when he and Britta are on the same team, but it's not totally unwelcome.

&&.

It's not like Jeff was expecting things to get better, it's just that, Pierce had already taken his clothes off -- how much worse could it get?

Turns out: a lot worse.

Professor Hippie is, predictably, friends with Vaughn. Vaughn who'd come back from a vision quest and broken Annie's heart. (He'd "just begun to know himself, how could he know another person?" Eyeroll.) Vaughn who'd had that thing with Britta. Vaughn who never wore shoes.

Vaughn who was now standing at the front of the classroom wielding poles and fabric and talking about following the will of your tent.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Because Greendale is Jeff's own personal hell, the tent lesson was going to span the next three lectures, too, so: awesome.

Things momentarily get better in the second class when Vaughn asks for a volunteer to help him assemble a particularly elaborate tent. Jeff sizes up the sharp, sharp tent poles and immediately raises his hand. He knows a million and one things about making this whole thing look like an accident, at least to a jury.

Shirley intercedes before Jeff can even get to his feet. On her way up to the front, she passes him and chirps, "You're too pretty for prison, Jeffrey."

Jeff feels vindicated when Shirley accidentally gets Vaughn in the forearm with a pole. It's even better when Vaughn calls it an "owie" and then has to wear a fluorescent pink bandage because the professor's hemp ones have mysteriously disappeared from his desk.

(After lunch that day, Jeff watches an abridged version of Band of Brothers, performed by Abed, Troy and three separate rolls of hemp gauze.)

 

&&.

It's not until the goddamn fifth class that things actually become, in their own way, useful. Jeff realizes this is going to be short lived, but he's got a map and a compass and Troy and Abed have leftover war paint from their quad reenactment, so it's not that bad.

Jeff's sporting simple under eye lines, but Abed and Troy have covered their entire faces. Annie even gets into the spirit with a dot of green on her nose. Britta matches Jeff's marks, but somehow it looks better. Britta tells him something about how the makeup industrial complex is finally paying off. Or, that's what he thinks she would've said, if he hadn't dragged a finger down her face in the middle of her sentence, smearing her paint and effectively drawing sides for that day's assignment.

Professor Hippie had hidden something somewhere around campus. The first person or group to return with it gets a pass for the day, everyone else, a fail. Jeff's pretty sure this isn't an ethical way to give out grades, but he's going to be the first to find it, so who gives a fuck about ethics? Winning: that's where it's at.

With Britta and her smeared paint clearly not on his team, he grabs Troy and Abed and starts off in the direction the compass is pointing. Pierce trails behind them, waving a Sharpie in the air, "Someone draw on my face, too!"

He turns around long enough to see Britta pull Annie and Shirley into an honest-to-god huddle, arms over each other's shoulders and everything.

What feels like five hours later, but is really only about 10 minutes, Jeff's literally commando crawling toward the Luis Guzman statue, trying not to think about about how he's ripping his favorite olive green American Apparel t-shirt (the one he got at the box sale from a pile of rejects, but that's he's prepared to tell everyone is just a super rare limited edition cut, should anyone ask). He's in the spirit of this thing and even though Abed's only four feet behind him, and cell phones aren't always walkie talkies, he's whispering into his iPhone like fucking Patton or something.

"Target acquired: Guzman's got a package tied around his neck."

Abed answers back, but he hears Troy's shriek first: "Those are not friendlies!"

Annie, in a feat of athleticism and grace Jeff hasn't seen since Johnny Weir at the Vancouver games, is scaling Guzman, untying the knotted rope with her teeth, while her arms hold on to the statue's shoulders.

It's totally hot in the most inappropriate of ways and Jeff's glad he's stomach down on the concrete because if anyone even thought they saw any part of his pants twitch, he'd have no way to explain. He'd be the kind of freak society ostracizes or gives reality shows to.

He rests his head on his forearms just for a second, not exactly giving up, but like, regrouping. But then Britta's cheering and Shirley's clapping and he hears Annie land softly somewhere in front of him.

"We won!" He's not sure who said it, but it wasn't anyone on his team and in a second, he's the old Jeff. The Jeff that would do anything to win a court case and who drove a sweet car and didn't care about feelings or fairness.

It's that that Jeff looks into Annie's huge, proud doe eyes and doesn't see someone to protect, he sees prey. In one swift move, he's snatched the packet from Annie's hands and taken off toward the classroom.

Because he's not actually the old Jeff anymore, he slows up and comes back to himself. He stops, panting, crouching over to rest his hands on his knees, just in front of the doors of the building.

Then Britta barrels into him and suddenly he's lying prone on the ground again, this time with a woman on his back.

(He lets it sink for just a moment -- because, while this isn't the ideal configuration, Britta's still on him.)

She wraps her hands around his waist and up between his stomach and the ground.

"Give. That. Back," she's grunting into his ear, her fingers digging into him.

Jeff knows he should say something here, get her off of him, something, but even if he overpowered the old Jeff before, the new Jeff isn't a fucking eunuch or anything.

"Give what back?" He tries for the most innocent tone he can muster. The package, and his hands, are actually up under his neck, but she can find that on her own.

(There's just so much squirming.)

"That's ours!" She curls her fingers up tight into his abdomen.

"Is it?" Jeff's actually smiling, he can feel it.

Britta's hands, without much space between his body and the ground, are worming their way down.

"Warmer, warmer."

He can feel her knuckles scrape the concrete as she jerks her hands upward.

"Cold, getting colder."

"Where is it," she grinds out just as the rest of the group catches up.

"Why, Britta, I still have no idea what you're talking about."

Jeff can hear Annie's voice over everything, "Jeff! You're better than this!" Pierce is cheering him on, something about women having no follow through and that's why they have the right to vote, but can't be drafted (what). Abed and Troy are running commentary, like it's a wrestling match.

He has a brief thought of explaining that he wasn't actually going to do it, take the package to the professor. It was just an impulse. But then Britta's hands are crawling back down his stomach. His shirt's riding up and then suddenly the tips of her fingers get caught on the top of his jeans and then --

Oh shit.

\-- right past his boxers.

He can feel every part of it, her fingers on his skin, just under the elastic, the way the rest of her fingers are splayed out, her palms pressing against his abdomen, half skin, half shirt.

There's a noise, like a choking noise, coming out of him and then he's on his feet. Britta falls off with a yelp and starts to say something, but then Jeff watches her eyes zero in on the package.

"All right there, Chyna," he makes a show of his cracking his neck. "I'm giving it back."

Jeff turns away from Britta to find Annie somewhere between "red and fuming" and "on the verge of tears."

"Aw, hey, hey," he brings a hand up to her shoulder.

"Here," he offers up the package with his other hand. "Listen, I'm sorry, I was just --"

What's he supposed to say? Not practicing impulse control? Being kind of an asshole? Focused on winning at the expense of everything else?

"-- goofing off," he finishes lamely.

"Sure you were, psycho," Britta's smirking at him, he can practically feel it, but he stays focused on Annie.

Annie's head snaps up, she looks him in the eye like she knows something. It's some horrifying, sexy mixture of amusement and drive and condescension and he's right back at the debate with Annie, the super hot grown up. In a matter of seconds, she's snatched the package from his hands and is tearing off through the doors toward class.

Ho-ly shit.

&&.

Because there aren't any, like, bears to trap on campus, the food unit should be anticlimactic. Apparently last semester at a different school, some overeager student went fishing in the koi pond and Professor Hippie still hasn't recovered emotionally.

They end up having to list foods you can eat while camping, while the professor writes them down on the board. Things are starting to get out of hand and overly detailed (Cheese Doodle, Cheez Puffs, Cheez-Its, Chee-tohs) when someone knocks on the door.

It's a FedEx guy, looking apologetic, "Sorry, this was supposed to get here yesterday, but your regular route driver is having some personal probl--"

For someone that's a part of a stereotype generally regarded as sensitive and loving, Professor Hippie grabs the package and slams the door with a tremendous amount of enthusiasm.

"All right, class, let's get hands on."

Inside the box, there's at least 100 different packages of freeze-dried astronaut-type food. The professor's doling them out in groups, snacks, dinners, desserts, but within minutes it's a free-for-all.

Through some impressive football spin moves and a whole lot of blocking from Jeff and a surprisingly agile Pierce, Troy manages to get them the entire pile of desserts (the best type of freeze dried food, hands down).

Then they eat.

Abed dissects his food with scientific precision, breaking the vanilla, strawberry and chocolate off the neapolitan ice cream perfectly. He does the same thing with the ice cream sandwich, snapping off the chocolate wafers from the vanilla with an adept flick of his wrist.

Pierce, on the other hands, shoves a sandwich into his mouth whole and chokes for 10 seconds before it starts to disintegrate.

Troy uses the fact that Pierce didn't die to do some Troy Science.

"Hey, they disappear!" He breaks a chunk of strawberry from one of Abed's pieces and tosses it into his mouth. Around it, he mumbles, "Watch!"

Troy sticks his tongue out and, for reasons Jeff can't articulate, they all actually watch. The pink cube slowly oozes around the bottom, where it's on Troy's tongue and, while it doesn't entirely disintegrate, it definitely kind of, like, shrivels and gets smaller.

Before Jeff can stop and think about how ridiculous he's going to look with a big white blob on his tongue (on second though, maybe not the vanilla), they've all grabbed their own pieces.

Shirley keeps her mouth resolutely closed, like it's a Communion wafer or something, but she has a pleased smile on her face. Pierce shoves another entire sandwich in his mouth after proclaiming, "Well, if I'm not going to die!"

Abed breaks off equal pieces of chocolate, strawberry and vanilla and puts them in his mouth. He does an Abed head tilt for a few seconds and then swallows. It's more exciting than it sounds.

Jeff's quietly enjoying the act of pushing the ice cream against the roof of his mouth and feeling it liquify when he notices Troy's convinced Britta and Annie to try the tongue out method.

Jeff chokes this time.

Annie's got the ice cream, a tiny little piece of cookies and cream, on the very tip of her tongue, looking down at it almost cross-eyed. Britta's got more of her tongue out, the ice cream a little more centered. It's absolutely ridiculous, they all look ridiculous, but Jeff doesn't feel ridiculous.

He just sees tongues.

Class finally ends, but naturally it has to be popsicle day in the cafeteria.

&&.

For the class on starting a fire, Professor Hippie just gives everyone a lighter.

This was an obvious mistake.

As they stand outside the building, cops and firefighters swarming, the professor rolls it into the law enforcement lesson.

The sum total of that lesson: don't trust The Man.

&&.

Jeff's not going to admit, because the whole damn course has been some sort of prolonged tease, with his attraction to both Britta and Annie thrown into sharp relief, that's he's maybe accidentally dreamed about the first aid unit a couple of times.

(But he has. CPR dreams, shirtless bandaging dreams, kiss-it-better dreams and, once, a threesome safety dream. Fuck yes.)

So, it stands to reason, that the one lesson with actual potential to be interesting, is the worst.

Should Jeff have expected Vaughn to come back? Yes, through the power of reasoning, logic and how much everything just sucks all the time, he should've expected that. But he didn't.

They haven't even been in class five minutes when Vaughn's got every girl in class on the hook.

Oh, Vaughn, saving a life is such a big deal.

Oh, Vaughn, you make the Heimlich so sexy.

Oh, Vaughn, I'll pretend to be the victim of a near fatal raccoon attack.

Jeff's about 99 percent sure he didn't say anything out loud, but Abed's still there, being Abed.

"It's just hero worship, Jeff," Abed starts. "Society and popular culture have taught us that only when we truly recognize the fragility of life, can we begin to appreciate it in --"

There's probably more to that sentence, but Jeff's already gone.

"I know CPR," Jeff's voice sounds loud and gruff over the lilting fairy tones of Vaughn's. (Well, that's how Jeff hears it.)

Professor Hippie's just raising his eyebrows, when Dean Pelton is bursting through the door.

"We haven't had that CPR dummy safety certified," he peers over his glasses. "For your protection, you can demonstrate on me."

If Jeff were Abed, right now he'd probably appreciate how everyone's eyes are bouncing between Jeff, the dean and Vaughn. But Jeff is Jeff, so instead the words, "I'll pass" are on the tip of his tongue, but what barrels out in front of them is an irritated (yet determined), "Fine."

Jeff hasn't done CPR since he was 17 years old and lifeguarding at the local pool. What's more, he didn't even technically learn CPR, he just slipped the instructor -- a petite, blonde little college freshman -- the tongue during the demonstration and, boom, CPR certified.

(He's also pretty sure you can kill somebody doing CPR either the wrong way or the right way, if they're not passed out. But it's Dean Pelton and he's got Vaughn to show up, so: acceptable risk.)

What happens next is like punching a doctor's stupid clay vase, wearing shorts to play pool and finding out he left Britta a 45 minute long voicemail, all rolled into one.

He actually hurts Dean Pelton. Something about where he placed his hand and how hard he pressed down and then the dean's eyes roll back and Vaughn has to swoop in to save the day.

He can't decide if it's worse that Annie rushes to fawn all over Vaughn once Dean Pelton's recovered or that Britta gives him a smug look and an even smugger line.

"Typical reckless male bravado." And she's out the door.

&&.

It didn't occur to Jeff that the final exam for a camping class might actually be camping (and it's not like he read the syllabus), so it's kind of a surprise when it creeps up on him.

(He actually only realizes it because Pierce uses the first half of lunch to discuss how he's going to bring his guitar and play songs around the campfire. Troy and Abed insist ghost stories are the way to go. They spend the next 20 minutes telling one about how the forest spirits get angry at people who don't know their chords and strangle bad musicians with their guitar strings. Jeff can just picture Pierce at home that night, burying his guitar in the very back of his closet. It's a nice thought.)

Turns out: not realizing the class was going camping was a pretty huge mistake. There were sign ups and sleeping arrangements and he's way late on a single man tent.

It breaks down like this:

Troy and Abed in a two-man tent. (Jeff refrains from asking if they'd also picked up the two man bag they'd field tested at the beginning of the course -- it just seems tacky to ask. And also kind of obvious). Abed starts in on a "no room at the inn" thing and then Shirley's perks up because, well, the Bible and it takes five minutes to get back on the topic of where the fuck Jeff is going to sleep.

Pierce is bunking with Starburns in a family tent. This doesn't make any sense until that afternoon when Starburns' cellphone rings and his ringtone is the theme to Ghostbusters. Of course Pierce would think that means protection.

Annie and Shirley are in another two man, but a deluxe, which maybe, possibly, means room for a third -- if the third doesn't have a penis. "We're going to take Cosmo quizzes and braid each other's hair!" Shirley just seems so happy and Jeff doesn't have the heart to explain that camping is an altogether different thing from a sleepover. And from being 13.

Britta, who proudly, chin jutted out, announces that she'd gotten to school at 4 a.m. the day sign ups were posted, has a single.

Because Jeff can't choose between possibly clawing his own ears off (Pierce's tent) and metaphorical castration (Annie and Shirley's), he doesn't put his name down anywhere on the sign up sheet.

If he can't find somewhere to sleep, he'll just get in his car, drive to a hotel and drive back before everyone wakes up. In fact, if that had been on the sign up sheet, he'd have written 'Jeff Winger' under it, in capital letters.

&&.

They are legitimately camping in a park. Like a city park, a community park, not a national park. Jeff once defended a guy arrested for sleeping (all right, and urinating) in a park like this and even the idea that, "If Americans can't sleep in parks, then the terrorists have won," couldn't dissuade a judge from labeling it illegal.

So either Greendale has some fancy permits or Professor Hippie was pretty serious about his whole lecture on law enforcement and The Man.

Either way you slice that, and regardless of the professor's stance on Johnny Law, you can't start a fire in a park. That means campfire singalongs, ghost stories, s'mores, whatever the fuck else people do in movies that isn't just get drunk and make bad decisions, is out.

Vaughn, boring, predictable, omnipresent Vaughn, is taking students on a nature walk and although he knew he wasn't going to be traipsing down some grant-funded gravel path, Jeff's surprised to see her staying behind, too.

 

Click [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1484731/chapters/3133372) for Jeff/Britta (or go to chapter 2).

Click [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1484731/chapters/3133381) for Jeff/Annie (or go to chapter 3).


	2. The Jeff/Britta ending.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Jeff/Britta ending of the choose-your-own pairing. For Jeff/Annie instead, skip to chapter 3.

He sits down next to Britta on the grass, "You don't want to go find your spirit animal among the leaves of green?"  
  
Britta pulls a handful of grass up and starts mindlessly tearing it apart before realizing what she's done. She sets the clump back down and pats it, like that'll fix it.  
  
"I walk my dog on that trail at least twice a week. I'm not going to listen to Vaughn sing a song about a tree Capra's peed on."  
  
Jeff's actually taken aback. It's not like she struck him as a cat person -- she actually struck him as the kind of person that would accidentally kill a houseplant , but a  _dog_?  
  
"You have a dog? Wait, wait, revision -- your dog's name is  _Capra_? You closet sentimentalist!"  
  
Britta looks like she's going to put up a fight or say something, but she busts out with a tiny grin instead, so he keeps on.  
  
"Is it a wonderful life, Britta?  _Is it_?"  
  
"Do you wanna see a picture?" She almost looks -- proud?  
  
Jeff's normally not the type to agree to see pictures of anyone's anything -- unless of course someone is topless in the pictures -- but he's not made of  _stone_ , it's a dog for fuck's sake. (Plus, Britta's face right now is way more open than he's ever seen it. That's got to be worth something.)  
  
"Sure." He hasn't even finished the word and Britta's got her phone out. As she's thumbing through it, she starts talking, like, rambling, unguarded, earnest talking.  
  
"When I got back from New York, I didn't know anybody and I saw her on the shelter's website and they said she'd been abused and --" she cuts herself off and turns the phone toward Jeff.  
  
"This is Capra at the St. Patrick's Day parade." On the screen, there's a brownish dog, maybe with some beagle, some Daschund, wearing a green bandana.  
  
Britta presses a button and another picture comes up, this time the dog's wearing an orange t-shirt with a jack-o-lantern face on the back. "And this is Halloween -- we passed out candy after the party."  
  
She flips through a few more, Capra on her back, waiting for a belly rub, Capra's tongue licking at the lens, Capra in an argyle sweater.  
  
"Oh my god, Britta."  
  
She looks up at him, alarmed. "What?"  
  
"Oh my god, you're a  _crazy dog lady_ ," he drops his voice on the last bit for effect.  
  
"Wha-- no." She ducks her head, squinting at her phone and a picture of Capra in a tiny dog kilt, like she's trying to decide.  
  
"Britta, you dress her up, you take pictures, you go to  _parades_. You're a grade A, blue ribbon, prize-winning crazy dog lady."  
  
She looks back at the phone before snapping it shut and climbing to her feet.  
  
"At least I have somewhere to sleep tonight." It's only the slightest bit smug, but how does the person who just showed off pictures of their pet in human clothes end up winning the conversation?  
  
Jeff watches her for a second, getting himself up and jogging after her.  
  
"You know that tent could fit another person," he catches up to her. "And I solemnly swear to let you have your way with me. I'll just lie back and think of England."  
  
"England's an ally, Jeff, they don't deserve that."  
  
They come up on a playground and Britta makes her way toward the swings and sits down.  
  
"Come on, we'll do this for another 10 minutes, I'll win you over, blah, blah, I'm sleeping in there." This isn't a TV show, they don't need all the middle shit.  
  
"Nope." She pushes off with her feet and starts to swing.  
  
"Oh my god, really,  _really_ , you're going to be like this? What would Buddha say about that?" He sits down in the swing next to her and starts to pump, making sure to immediately get higher than her.  
  
"I don't know, my Buddhist phase coincided with my 'experiment with drugs' phase. As far as I'm concerned, Buddha and I might not even see blue as the same color."  
  
"Fine. I promise to tell everyone I actually slept  _outside_  the tent." He's almost to the top of his arc now, starting to cherry bump. Man, this is a lot easier than it was as a kid.  
  
"You can definitely tell them that, because it'll be the truth." She turns and smiles at him.  
  
This thing they do, it should get old, but it doesn't. It just makes him think of how kissing her is like this, too. Back and forth, back and forth. For something that's only happened once, he has surprisingly vivid memories of it.  
  
"All right, if I beat you on the jump, I get to sleep in the tent." He's barely even pumping anymore, just letting his weight pull him up and down.  
  
"What is this, a Jennifer Garner movie? No." She pulls back on the chains before leaning forward. "And you could  _never_  beat me on the jump."  
  
He turns his head, making sure she can see him and arches his eyebrows before going into the upswing. At the very top, he pushes himself off and lands, several feet away. He barely has time to look back and then Britta's off her swing, flying through the air. She lands with perfect form, like a gymnast, a good three feet in front of him.  
  
"Fuck."  
  
She shoves his shoulder, "Come on, Winger, let's go back. Your old man body is gonna feel that landing in the morning, especially after sleeping on the cold, hard ground."  
  
"The ground in the tent though, right?" She's already walking away and he's calling after her. "Right?"  
  
As it turns out, Professor Hippie's disapproval of The Man does, in fact, stop short of actually breaking the law -- but not short of childishly flaunting it. He's got a battery-powered toy that blows air up in between sheets of red and orange cloth. This is their campfire.  
  
Everyone else has returned from their "nature walk" and spread out blankets around the "fire." (It's like Jeff can "see" air quotes everywhere he looks.)  
  
Jeff's irritated for a second when he notices Vaughn is sitting next to Annie on her blanket -- the one Troy had told him months ago belonged to her grandma -- but he's immediately distracted by the monstrosity Britta's pulled from her bag. It's at least ten different colors, frayed and knotted, with big holes in parts.  
  
"Before I say anything about this blanket, did anyone who is now dead knit it for you, thereby creating some sort of sentimental value that I'd be remiss to mock?"  
  
Britta gives him a weird look and unfurls it on the ground. "No, I made --"  
  
"Wait, wait, wait, let me try first. You knitted this as part of some sort of angry feminist knitting group in a studio apartment in Williamsburg, no, the Village, no, definitely Williamsburg. Wait, it was a Stitch and Bitch in Park Slope -- final answer."  
  
She glares at him and the scoreboard he keeps in his head ticks forward one for Jeff 'The Rocket' Winger.  
  
"Aw, calm down, Martha Stewart. I'll sit right here -- the burnt orange and -- what is this? Glittery puke green? -- goes really well with my outfit," he folds himself down on the blanket.  
  
Britta looks like maybe she's going to actually wrestle him off of it, which, all told, wouldn't be bad, but then Professor Hippie is speaking.  
  
"You've all done great so far, but this next one is going to count as 30 percent of your final grade -- dinner. Go."  
  
Everyone starts pulling food out of their bags or standing to -- standing to find food? Who knows.  
  
Annie's brought a dehydrated four course meal, right down to the ice cream for dessert. Next to her, Vaughn pulls a granola bar from his pocket.  
  
Abed hands Troy a brown paper grocery bag and then gets one out for himself. He starts talking about how this is a recreation of what Emilio Estevez's character -- also a star athlete, like Troy -- brought to detention in The Breakfast Club. He's overshadowed by Troy, who's busy pulling food out of the bag and screaming like it's Christmas.  
  
"Three sandwiches?! Cookies! Milk! Fruit!"  
  
"If you're not able to eat it all, you can share with Jeff. Like Judd Nelson's character, he hasn't brought any food," Abed says and looks at Jeff. "Although I did bring some Pixy Stix, if you'd rather be Ally Sheedy."  
  
Next to him, Troy's circled his arms around the food protectively.  
  
Jeff waves him off, "Thanks, I've got it covered." He pulls his phone out and starts to look through it.  
  
Britta groans, "You can't possibly think ordering take out is going to get you a passing grade."  
  
"I'm providing dinner for myself. Assignment completed. Or it will be, in fifteen minutes -- and if it's not, it's free."  
  
"China-a-Go-Go wouldn't deliver to a real campground," she rolls her eyes.  
  
"And if we were  _in_  a real campground, I'd be too full of roasted hotdogs and marshmallows to even think about cashew chicken. But we're not."  
  
(He actually just forgot food, like he forgot a blanket and forgot to sign up for a tent. It's easier to pretend this is all deliberate.)  
  
Once his order's placed -- he goes with the cashew chicken just to make a point -- he looks around. Pierce is slurping down what looks like a protein shake, but can't possibly be. Shirley's eating celery covered in peanut butter and raisins ("My boys call this 'ants on a log,'" she beams). Britta is eating a pita stuffed with like, sprouts or some shit.  
  
They eat in silence for a little while, the sun setting in the background. Just as everyone's finishing and Pierce hands out Hawthorne Wipes -- "These are free for my friends!" He makes a show of not giving one to Vaughn -- Jeff sees the delivery guy walking across the field.  
  
Before he can even get his wallet out, Britta's sprinting away with her purse.  
  
Well, shit.  
  
He reaches the guy a few moments behind Britta, but can hear what she's said: "Whatever he owes you, I'll give you double." She's digging around in her purse.  
  
"Britta --" he's trying for a warning tone, but this battle is already lost, he can tell from the dollar signs in the kid's eyes. He doesn't have the cash in his wallet to triple it.  
  
"Just think of it like you were hunting in the woods and someone got to your kill first," she smirks and hands over a fistful of bills before taking the food -- Jeff's dinner.  
  
The kid grabs it and tears off, Jeff yelling behind him, "I'll be filling out a comment card about this!" It's kind of embarrassing.  
  
"All right, you made your point, can I have my food now?" He turns back to Britta.  
  
"No, it's about time the Jeff Winger luck ran out."  
  
"The Jeff Winger what?"  
  
"You,  _Jeff Winger_ , always running around, all devil-may-care, landing on your feet. You're leading a charmed life and I'm here to -- to -- to uncharm it."  
  
"Did you just quote Third Eye Blind at me? That's offensive."  
  
She tilts her head and holds the bag of food up. " _This_  is offensive. The rest of us have to try and you just, just coast on by, in your sunglasses and your pants, so: pssh," she finishes lamely.  
  
He's seen her really pissed, like, actually pissed and this isn't it -- but she's definitely, she's  _something_  right now.  
  
"All right, you're right, me and my pants get away with everything. I'm sorry. Can I have my food?"  
  
It should be enough, but instead she takes off running (he's pretty fucking sick of that) and not in the direction of camp.  
  
Jeff considers it for a minute, but Troy really did eat all that food and he watched Annie split her dessert with Vaughn. That leaves the Ally Sheedy Pixy Stix or chasing after Britta.  
  
Ugh.  
  
He starts to run.  
  
Britta's like a goddamn gazelle or something, bobbing and weaving across the other side of the field and into a patch of trees. He follows her for a while until he realizes -- the trees haven't ended. And it's dark. And he can't see Britta anymore.  
  
He stops and yells out, "Britta!" Nothing. "Britta!" Nothing. "Britta!"  
  
"What?" She's right next to him and he jumps.  
  
"FUCK!"  
  
"Aw, little Jeffy's scared?" He can see the moonlight glint off her teeth, she's smiling.  
  
"No, it's just -- whatever. Can I have my food now?"  
  
"I guess," she hands it over, still smiling.  
  
He squints off into the distance and can't see anything except more trees. His stomach is growling and if he has to walk back to camp and then eat his dinner in the middle of a Greendale rendition of 'Kumbaya,' he's just going to end up puking.  
  
"I'm eating here, you can walk back if you want, but if any bears come after you, I'm going to let nature take its course." He sits down on a tree stump and starts to untie the bag.  
  
Britta considers it for a minute and sits down on a rock next to him, "I'm not going to be the one to tell Pierce I left you alone in the woods."  
  
Jeff gets out a carton and is grateful to see there's plastic silverware in with the chopsticks. Dicking around with chopsticks right now isn't high on his To Do list.  
  
He's shoveling food into his mouth when he realizes how quiet it is. "Where the hell are we?" He says it around a mouthful of rice, but Britta doesn't seem to notice.  
  
"We're in the park. I always give Capra a drink from the water fountain over there," she points in between a couple of trees.  
  
"You're sure?"  
  
Britta doesn't answer him, instead she picks up his fortune cookie and opens it, reading the fortune aloud, "'You'll lose your way, but find a new one.' Ooh, how ominous."  
  
He eats for a little while longer, as Britta makes a tiny paper football out of the fortune. When he's done, he stands and says, "Lead on, crazy dog lady."  
  
She rolls her eyes and sets off between the trees, only there's no water fountain.  
  
"It's, uh, it's got to be just up ahead."  
  
They walk a little bit further. Nothing but more trees.  
  
"Oh my god, are you serious? We're lost in the woods. Over shitty Chinese food. Great." There's definitely a little bit of a whine in his voice, but Jeff's past caring.  
  
Britta keeps walking, "We're not  _lost_."  
  
It takes about 10 minutes, but she comes around to it -- they're lost.  
  
"Fine, I'll just call and they'll come find us. I'm sure this isn't the first time Professor Nature back there has lost a student."  
  
Because sometimes life  _is_  a Jennifer Garner movie, he doesn't have a signal.  
  
Britta pulls out her phone, "AT&T sucks, if you weren't such an iPhone whore, beholden to the whims of corporations, you'd get a carrier that --"  
  
Apparently Britta's fancy, non-AT&T phone doesn't have a signal either.  
  
They yell. They yell  _a lot_. Nothing but crickets and wind and some other Robert Frost nonsense.  
  
"How big can this park be? We'll just walk until we find something."  
  
Britta, even in the dim light, looks embarrassed. "Uh, actually the park joins up with a forest. Like a real forest."  
  
"You're joking."  
  
"Nope," and her eyebrows climb up toward her hairline.  
  
There's some bickering and then they turn around. They pass by Jeff's discarded Chinese food ("Nice, Jeff, nice and classy." "Shut it, Ranger Rick.") and keep going and suddenly it's been an hour.  
  
"They've got to be looking for us. We might as well just stop," Jeff's about 30 seconds away from a temper tantrum. He can feel it.  
  
"Fine." Britta makes her way to a fallen tree and sits down, leaning up against it.  
  
He sits down next to her, far enough away that he's not actually touching, but close enough that he can feel her there. It's not that he's actually  _worried_  (more like inconvenienced), but they're still in the woods, in the dark.  
  
They sit for a while, starting up a makeshift game of acorn target practice. Jeff looks at his watch, it's actually pretty late.  
  
"So who's watching your dog tonight?"  
  
It's the first thing either of them has said in what feels like an hour.  
  
Britta startles next to him, "Oh, um, my neighbors. They just got a new puppy and are trying to socialize him anyway."  
  
"Dog people," he says it jokingly, lightly.  
  
She bumps into him with her shoulder, "Aw, come on, you can't actually hate dogs."  
  
"I don't." And then he spends the next five minutes telling Britta the story of how he got a dog in the fourth grade, but his dad said he didn't take care of it and one day when he came home from school, Gizmo was gone.  
  
Britta doesn't say anything, but scoots a little closer next to him, kind of leaning against his arm. He'd blow her off, tell her he didn't need any sympathy, he's a grown man, but Gizmo was the best dog in the whole goddamn world and fuck it, it's about time someone tried to make it up to him. Plus, he's pretty tired.  
  
And thirsty. Jesus, he's thirsty. Chinese food, stupid idea anyway.  
  
"Hey, do you have any water?" He looks down at Britta and she's got her arms wrapped around herself, knees to her chest. "Wait, are you cold?"  
  
She shakes him off, "No, I'm not cold. I think have some water --" she starts rummaging through her purse and pulls out one of those metal water bottles, "A ha."  
  
(Of course she's got one of these hippie REI canteen things. Plastic bottles kill the Earth after all, right?)  
  
Once she's handed him the water, she pulls her knees back up and, yeah, she's cold.  
  
"All right, we'll do it like this, so as not to put you in a position where you  _need_  anything from me. I'll warm you up, if you give me some water."  
  
"I hardly think your volunteering to make out with me in exchange for a drink qualifies as a fair trade." She says it, but her heart's not in it.  
  
"Whoa, whoa, who said anything about making out? Slow down there, Britta. Although you did buy me dinner --" He smiles. "No, I mean like this, here." He unscrews the bottle and takes a big drink before giving it back to her. She takes a drink, too, and Jeff's weirdly pleased that she didn't wipe the rim off or anything. Christ, who's back in the fourth grade now?  
  
"All right, now, here, just," he lifts his arm up and puts it along the back of the tree, leaning into her before wrapping his hand around her arm. "Better?"  
  
Britta stiffens for a second, but then seems to realize it might actually help and settles against his side.  
  
"Where are they?" Britta says and it's half muffled by where her head is leaning against his armpit. (Two things: one, when did this happen, two, he showered today, right?)  
  
"You know, Pierce is probably wandering the field in circles calling our names." She laughs softly and he can feel it across his shirt. He continues, "Vaughn's showing Annie how the Earth will lead them to us. Shirley's fretting. Wait, no, Shirley's yelling at the professor and he's terrified, really, truly, terrified. Troy and Abed, hmm." He stops and Britta picks it up.  
  
"Troy and Abed are going to actually find us. Abed saw it in a movie and they're practically here. Got to be, right?" Her head lolls further into him and he doesn't want to look down to confirm it, but he's pretty sure from the way her voice trailed off, she's closed her eyes.  
  
Jeff figures, sure, OK, they'll be here soon, what's the harm in closing his eyes, too?  
  
When he wakes up, he keeps his eyes shut for a second, because when he opens them it either better be daylight and there's camp just ten feet away or there's everybody, coming through the trees to get them.  
  
It's plenty bright when he opens his eyes, but it's just the moon. Really, neither of those things happen, but Britta's still sleeping on him and so he takes that in. She jumps awake a few seconds later, "What?! Huh?!"  
  
"We're still here," he looks at his watch, "And it's only been 20 minutes."  
  
She sits up straight and his shirt's damp with sweat where she's been leaning into him. He can smell his own deodorant, which, oh thank god, he  _did_  shower.  
  
"Maybe we should try walking again?" Her hair is all messed up, kind of, like, sex messed up and it's enough to distract him into agreeing.  
  
Except that when she goes to stand, she trips, falling back down to the ground, "My leg's asleep, fuck it."  
  
They settle back against the log.  
  
Britta doesn't lean back into him, but doesn't object when he stretches his arm out again.  
  
"Jeff," she says, like she needs him to know she's talking to him and not the hundreds of other people in the woods. "I know this is my fault. So you can just say it now and get it over with. 'You got us lost in the woods, Britta," she drops her voice when she mimics him.  
  
Huh. He hadn't really thought of it that way, it  _is_  her fault. But really he says (and thinks):  
  
"No, you're right, I was, what did you call it? 'Coasting on by?' If I hadn't tried for the easy way, we'd be back at camp and I'd be sneaking into your tent right about now."  
  
"And I'd be locking the zipper," she pauses. "That's about the most grown up conversation we've ever had."  
  
"Shh, don't tell anybody." He looks down at her and she's already staring at him.  
  
A lump forms in his throat, the kind of lump adults are supposed to outgrow, right? You're supposed to stop being affected by pretty girls who go toe-to-toe with you and instead focus on ways to keep everyone from bothering you.  
  
He swallows, but it doesn't go away. She's actually making eye contact with him. It's unnerving.  
  
Without even thinking about, he curls his hand around her arm again. When her mouth opens just the tiniest bit, he tightens it.  
  
There's that feeling, the one where he's not a grown up, where he's not detached, where there's a tingling heat spreading across his chest.  
  
She's got to know, right? She's got to know that if this goes on just two seconds longer, he's going to kiss her.  
  
He mentally counts to two, then to four. She doesn't move, just keeps looking at him and he can see the tiniest bit of her teeth past her lips.  
  
The handful of times anything like this has happened to him with a woman like Britta, he's opened his mouth and said something stupid. Half the time they kiss him anyway, but the other half, he's fucked it up.  
  
If Professor Slater taught him anything, it's that those are risky odds.  
  
So he keeps his mouth shut, just raising his eyebrows the tiniest bit, like a question.  
  
She raises hers back.  
  
He leans in and she actually, holy shit, she actually tips her head up.  
  
Kissing her in the quad, it was all in fast forward, like in triple time, but he figured that was because he hadn't had any time to think about it. But kissing her this time, it's just as fast, everything zips by.  
  
Jeff tilts his head and Britta tilts hers and then their lips are together and then they're moving. He uses the hand around her arm to turn her into him. He brings his other hand up to her face. She loops her arms around his neck. It's so fast, move, move, move.  
  
He feels like he's falling behind, like he needs to catch up, which is ridiculous, but there it is. He opens his mouth to get her bottom lip between his and then there's her tongue and so he sweeps his out.  
  
Before it even registers, he's half picking her up, and she's doing the other half, walking on her knees, moving to straddle him. His hands fall around her waist and she moves hers up into his hair.  
  
He forces himself to slow everything down, to bring it into focus. He slides his tongue against hers and concentrates on the damp, warm feel of it. She pulls back and he thinks he's blown it, that is was always meant to be fast, but instead she moves her mouth down to his neck.  
  
Oh.  _Oh._  
  
She's sucking, then licking, then there it is, just the tiniest nip, just a little bit of teeth and he bucks up into her.  
  
 _Now_  he's blown it.  
  
She pulls back and he's expecting something sarcastic or something witty or something that isn't just a tiny smirk as she grinds down onto him before kissing him again.  
  
He's going to go ahead and take that as tacit permission for -- something.  
  
He unclenches one of his hands from where he'd been clutching the back of her shirt and moves it around to the front. He's just gotten it curled around her ribs, when the fast forward is back and then suddenly he's moved it up, and he's, jesus  _fuck_ , he's palming Britta's breast.  
  
She breaks the kiss and breathes out -- he'll call it a groan and bump the scoreboard up, but it's actually quieter than that.  
  
It's not that he's trying to jerk his hips, it's just, his pants are tight to begin with. And if there's any chance she'll do that grinding thing or neck thing or any _thing_  again, he's going to go for it.  
  
She does.  
  
She drops down a little, sinking further into his lap, landing, oh, OK, yep, and he can't even being to imagine how stupid he looks because he knows he's chasing after her mouth.  
  
He finds it again and it's wet and open and his tongue just slides back inside. He's moving his other hand around, skirting his fingers just up under the edge of her shirt and --  
  
"Whoa, it's getting X-rated up in here!"  
  
Troy. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. Troy.  
  
Britta goes still and rigid and then practically vaults off of him.  
  
He shifts a little in his pants and gets up (very fucking uncomfortably, thanks) to stand next to Britta.  
  
She smooths her shirt down and clears her throat as Troy emerges from behind a tree, Abed at his heels.  
  
Troy's teeth look blindingly white in the moonlight -- it's also probably because he's got a face-splitting grin on.  
  
"You guys didn't have to stop -- white people getting it on, I've rented that one before."  
  
Jeff's trying to figure out what to do -- say something? Ignore it? Acknowledge it? Check on Britta? He settles on scanning the woods behind them, to see if  _everyone_  just witnessed that.  
  
"It's just us," Abed speaks in his normal tone, fast and clipped.  
  
"Yeah, we actually found you guys a while ago," Troy says. "But Abed said we should observe because it's good -- what was it?"  
  
"Character development," Abed supplies.  
  
"Yeah, character development. I thought it was gonna be boring, but, man, get it, Jeff!" Troy puts his fist out for a bump, but lets it drop when Jeff doesn't move.  
  
"Wait," Britta says. "You let us stay in the woods, thinking we were lost, for  _character development_." Oh and there it is,  _that's_  Britta actually pissed.  
  
Abed's still unfazed, "Of course, you had to be out of your natural element for anything to develop. It's a mixture of several different romantic comedy formulas. Britta, you're like Meg Ryan in --"  
  
Jeff can feel the heat radiating off of Britta and there's no doubt that she could snap Abed like a twig, so he steps in.  
  
"All right, just take us back to camp," he tries to make it sound like he's pissed, but it's not working.  
  
Abed turns on his heels and starts walking, Britta close behind. Troy's still looking at Jeff like he's a hero and because he is feeling pretty fucking great right now, he raises his fist just the tiniest bit. Troy bumps it enthusiastically. Jeff puts a finger to his mouth, like, shh, and points at Britta.  
  
&&.  
  
It was probably too much to ask that he also end up in Britta's tent for the rest of the night, so he doesn't.  
  
(The professor gives them an automatic A for surviving in the wild. He ends up in her apartment instead.)  
  
  
&&.  
  



	3. The Jeff/Annie ending.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Jeff/Annie ending of the choose-your-own pairing. For Jeff/Britta instead, skip back to chapter 2.

Annie's kneeling, rummaging through the largest duffel bag Jeff's ever seen -- and he was a lawyer, for some not  _entirely_  wholesome people.  
  
"You got a body in there? Maybe two?" He just says it conversationally, but she jumps like he shouted.  
  
"Oh, Jeff, you scared me! Shouldn't you be on the nature walk?" She goes back to digging in the bag, stretching the zipper open as far as it'll go.  
  
"Why, so Vaughn can point out which trees he's bros with? Spoiler alert: all of them."  
  
He sinks down next to her and she barely turns to look at him, but answers anyway, "Because it's part of our grade."  
  
"Is it?" Jeff considers it for a second, but decides, even with that information, he was not about to traipse through the forest with Robin Hobo and his band of merry -- whatever. "Wait, if we're being graded, why aren't  _you_  on the walk?"  
  
She leans back, pulling out several sheets of colored cloth and what looks like a fan, "Because Devon offered me credit for the assignment and bonus points to help get the camp fire going."  
  
There are just so, so many things Jeff wants to say.  
  
One: Professor Hippie's name is  _Devon_. Fitting.  
Two: Why is Annie calling the professor by his first name?  
Three: Oh, so a fire in the park  _is_  happening. Great. Somewhere Smokey the Bear is having a rage blackout.  
Four: No, seriously,  _why is Annie calling him Devon_?  
  
He goes with the one that seems the most pressing, "Devon, eh? You're just a magnet for filthy hippies. What do you have against collared shirts, Annie? Did one strangle your father?"  
  
Now she's arranging the cloth alongside the fan, what the hell is going on? She's barely paying attention to him. He's definitely better looking than that fan.  
  
Still distracted she tells him, "Everyone's supposed to call him Devon, Jeff. Didn't you read the syllabus?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Or the board on the first day of class?"  
  
"Nope."  
  
"Or the --- ugh!" She presses the switch on the fan back and forth, but nothing happens.  
  
Jeff takes it from her and checks the batteries. They're in the wrong way.  
  
"What exactly are we doing with this?" He pulls the batteries from their compartment. "Because my mom would throw a fit if she knew we really were trying to air condition the whole neighborhood."  
  
Annie looks at him blankly.  
  
"No? When you left the door open in the summer and your mom -- what am I saying, kids today aren't allowed to play  _outside_  anymore."  
  
He snaps the batteries back into place, testing the switch to make sure it works (it does) before handing it over to her. She smiles broadly.  
  
"Thanks, Jeff, wouldn't have been much of a fire without this!"  
  
"What?"  
  
But Annie doesn't answer, just secures the cloth to the fan and flips the switch. She stands up and watches as the breeze flaps the strips of color around. "Our fire," she says decisively.  
  
"Give me a brea--" he reconsiders, "-- a hand up?"  
  
She smiles pleasantly and reaches her hand out. He's not stupid enough to put any of his actual weight into it and he mostly gets himself up, but once he's standing, he kind of forgets to let go of her hand. In fact, he doesn't let go and then he stares at their hands clasped together, so: even better.  
  
Her hand looks ridiculously, freakishly tiny in his and where his normal instinct would probably be to crush something small and in his hand, it mostly just makes him want to protect her. (To be clear: protect her from everyone  _but_  him.)  
  
"Uh, Jeff?"  
  
He shakes his head and lets go of her hand, "Sorry. I was just momentarily stunned by the beauty of that fire. Nice work, Edison."  
  
They stare at the fire, listening to the fan whirring for a few seconds and then listening to the fan grind its gears and then listening to the fan stop working, which is also sort of a visual thing.  
  
In Abed's movie version of this scene, the next part happens like this:  
  
Slow motion, Annie falls to her knees, shaking her fists in fury at the sky and shouting, "Noooo!"  
  
In reality, Annie immediately looks to Jeff like  _he_  broke it. Possibly with his sarcasm.  
  
"It's probably just those batteries," Jeff says blithely.  
  
This is apparently not the right tone. This is also apparently a crisis.  
  
Annie hurls herself head first into crazy town.  
  
"My grade! Devon is  _not_  going to be pleased! What am I going to do? Oh my gosh, oh --," she hesitates, like she's considering the company she's in, "-- crap!"  
  
"Calm down, come on I'll drive you to Target. We'll get new batteries."  
  
Annie lets out a strangled sort of sob, but nods her head.  
  
By the time they've reached the car, all the way in east bumblefuck because the parks department apparently hates convenience, Annie's switched from hysterical to conspiratorial.  
  
"We're not supposed to leave camp. Devon may ask where we've been, Jeff," she tells him solemnly. "And you'll have to say we went on our own nature walk, you'll have to," she lowers her voice, " _lie_."  
  
Despite the fact that Jeff knows the guilt of lying is going to eat at Annie until she freaks out and tells on herself (and, by extension, him), it's kind of endearing. She's scheming and plotting and  _this_  is the girl Jeff made out with and the girl that stands up to him and the girl that -- oh, fuck, whatever. This is Annie, all of it, it's just that this is the part that doesn't make him think of how, biologically speaking, he could've gone to school with her parents.  
  
(Which -- if his  _biological_  response to every time they make eye contact is anything to go by -- doesn't apparently matter to Jeff all that much.)  
  
"All right, only this once, I don't want to make a habit of it and," he mimics the way she dropped her voice, "turn into a  _liar_."  
  
He clicks the remote to unlock his car and they both open the doors. Jeff has a momentary impulse to open her door for her, which is ridiculous -- not because that isn't something he occasionally does when laying it on extra thick, but because, they're going to Target to buy batteries for a toy campfire. This isn't a date, for fuck's sake.  
  
(Jeff  _is_  being extra careful not to drive like a dick, but that's for safety sake, OK?)  
  
They're stopped at a light a few blocks from the park when Annie finally decides that they're both prepared enough to lie to Devon about where they've been. She immediately turns her attention to the CDs in his center console.  
  
She picks up his copy of Van Halen II and flips it over, "Is this a Weezer cover band?"  
  
He takes his eyes off the road to confirm that she is, in fact, insinuating that a formative album from his youth, is actually a tribute to those pork and beans-loving assholes. She is.  
  
" _What_."  
  
"Oh, is it not? It's just -- the logo looks similar, I wonder if they got it from Weezer."  
  
Jeff's grip goes white on the steering wheel. If he'd needed any sort of reminder of just how fucking young Annie is, this is like someone rented a billboard that played "And the Cradle Will Rock" and put it on a truck that followed him everywhere.  
  
"Annie, I'm only going to say this once, Van Halen did  _not_ , in any way, shape or form, get  _anything_  from Weezer." He's trying to keep his voice level. It's not working.  
  
"Oh," she says, and she sounds unconvinced.  
  
If they continue this conversation, Jeff will, 100%, leave her in the Target parking lot. She's cute and all, but he's not going to let some kid come in here and make him feel like an old man for all the times he air guitared to "Runnin' with the Devil." This is sacred.  
  
Jeff takes a couple of deep breaths, but is somehow even angrier. Angry that Annie is, like, 12, angry that, through some misguided sense of propriety, that even matters to him. Angry that she wore khaki hiking shorts and sitting in the seat like that, he can see a significant amount of leg.  
  
"I'd think a band that put out a song called 'Hot for Teacher' would appeal to you in some way," he sounds a little bit like an asshole.  
  
"What's that supposed to mean?" She goes red in the passenger seat and he's not sure if it's blushing or rage.  
  
"No, no, I just mean, this is an awful lot of trouble you're going through for  _Devon_ ," now the conversation has entirely switched gears. Jeff can't even keep up and he's the one doing it.  
  
Annie turns toward him in her seat, "Well, I'm sorry that my grades are important to me!" She crosses her arms tightly.  
  
In an actual relationship, right now is the exact moment Jeff would pull the cord. He can get laid, it's not a problem. He doesn't need to deal with relationship fighting to do it. The way the thing with Michelle imploded proves that.  
  
Instead, he's immediately ready to apologize to Annie. Which, maybe he did cross the line with the Devon thing, but she's clearly in the wrong on Van Halen (just so,  _so_  wrong) and he's still willing to admit he's the bad guy here.  
  
"OK, you're right, I'm not taking the assignment, I'm not taking  _school_  seriously enough." He looks at her out of the corner of his eye, because there's a chance she's not just going to let the argument drop -- and he maybe wouldn't fault her.  
  
But she does, immediately brightening, "There's the Jeff Winger I love -- the one willing to  _grow_."  
  
No, seriously, what the fuck just happened? It's ridiculous how fast he can feel out of water with Annie, how fast she can throw him from his guard. Britta -- Britta he gets. They have a dance they do, but Annie, Annie's a wild card. That's probably the intriguing part (because he refuses to admit that he's a dirty old man and it's an age thing, because it's actually not. He's not, like,  _Pierce_  or anything).  
  
Before he has time to respond, Target's in view and he's got an out. He turns into the parking lot and finds a spot.  
  
"So, lithium or akaline? We don't want Professor Hipp--  _Devon's_  fire going out before everyone's gotten the true camping experience."  
  
Annie considers this as he parks the car and opens his door.  
  
"We better get both, just to be safe," Annie nods decisively and gets out of the car.  
  
Jeff smiles -- he handled that pretty damn well, if he does say so himself. Emotions: not as hard as they look.  
  
Target's got those little displays right at the front and there are batteries in the one nearest the entrance. He walks over to them, picking up a four pack of AA Energizers.  
  
"Got 'em," he looks around for a cashier before walking toward one.  
  
Annie's trailing behind him and he just barely notices, but she's lost some of the Annie enthusiasm.  
  
He gets in line, there's a lady with 40 things in front of them and he makes a show of putting the one pack of batteries on the conveyor belt, hoping for an, "Oh, that's all you have? You can go ahead."  
  
It doesn't come.  
  
Annie's finally caught up to him and is staring at the batteries on the belt like she can implode them with her mind. He's pretty sure Abed could probably do something like that, but Annie? No.  
  
"What's the deal? You want me to buy the jumbo pack so we have back up?"  
  
She shakes her head once, quickly, "No, no, this is great. Do you want some money?" She reaches for her bag.  
  
"I think I can handle two bucks."  
  
"Thanks!" It's a kind of false enthusiasm.  
  
The lady in front of them tells the cashier she's forgotten laundry detergent and can she just run back and get it? Jeff curls his toes inside his shoes.  
  
He's about to start looking around for a different cashier, maybe, oh, an  _express_  lane, when Annie speaks again, a lot quieter.  
  
"It's stupid, when I was on the pills, they would call me the Energizer Bunny, like i just kept going. I used to think it was a compliment."  
  
Jeff can feel his eyebrows go up and short of clawing at his face to bring them back down, there's nothing he can do about it, but she continues anyway.  
  
"I don't want you to think I always do this around batteries."  
  
"Oh, no, of course not." But, yeah, that thought crossed his mind.  
  
"It's just --" she pauses and Jeff tries trying to find an out of this conversation because he is  _definitely_  going to say the wrong thing. "I haven't had a lot of friends since then and being with one and then the bunny and -- I sound crazy."  
  
All right, here it goes, he's already wincing about how badly this is going to end, "Annie, no one thinks you're the Energizer bunny. If anybody's a bunny in this group, it's Pierce. Or maybe Troy."  
  
Goddamn it, why did he bring up Troy? There's no way she's actually over that whole thing yet, plus, Troy went to high school with her back when she  _was_  an unstoppable bunny.  
  
He holds his breath.  
  
She laughs.  
  
 _ohthankgod._  
  
"Thanks, Jeff," she gets up on her tiptoes to -- to what? To -- oh my god, she's going to kiss him, it's going to be on the cheek though, right, rig---  
  
He turns his head toward her at the last second, totally and completely losing control of his body. What the fuck did he do -- oh shit, oh fuck, oh --  
  
Her mouth lands on and, yep, this confirms it, he's completely out of his mind. She might slap him? Maybe? He wouldn't be afraid, except that time she slammed his head into the table, it was with a surprising amount of force.  
  
Instead she makes a tiny noise of surprise, but immediately yields. He tilts his head the slightest bit, moves his mouth, just a little. She responds the same way.  
  
He does it again. She does it again.  
  
Jeff's mind is barreling toward pinning her up against the candy display, but settles for bringing a hand up to her hip. He's just curling his fingers into the bottom of her shirt when the lady in front of them comes plowing through the aisle with her giant tub of Tide.  
  
" _Excuse me_ ," she snarls out, shoving into them. Jeff immediately jumps away.  
  
"Oh, uh, sorry."  
  
He's trying not to meet Annie's eyes, but that, obviously, is all he's doing -- looking at her, trying to see if this is going to be a Problem or if she's mad or if she maybe wants to do that again. Like, not in Target. And not in front of an auditorium of community college students.  
  
Annie wipes, deliberately and delicately, at her mouth and gives him a tiny smile.  
  
He feels it  _everywhere_.  
  
Even though the horrible woman in front of them takes another five minutes checking out, Jeff doesn't notice. Now that it's pretty clear Annie's not upset, he's able to stop looking at her eyes and commence staring at her mouth.  
  
And from the way she -- still deliberate and delicate -- licks her lips, Jeff's pretty sure they're on the same page.  
  
Holy shit. He's never going to be able to go into a Target again without getting hard.  
  
When it's finally their turn at the register, Jeff pays for the $2 batteries with what was probably at least a five, if not a ten, blurts out, "Keep the change!" and grabs them before the receipt even prints. He's out the door, Annie right next to him, within a minute.  
  
He basically power walks, not even caring how stupid he looks (he's only keeping from running because he doesn't want to lose Annie), to the car.  
  
Jeff starts clicking the unlock on the remote frantically in his pocket, even though they're still pretty far away. He's not  _exactly_  sure what's going to happen when they get in the car, but he's not going to wait a few extra seconds to find out.  
  
By the time they're finally there, Jeff swings his door open with more force and reckless abandon than he's ever treated the Lexus with. It's a nice car, but it's  _his_  nice car, so it'll understand.  
  
He slides into the seat at the same time Annie slides into hers and then everything's still for a moment while they look at each other.  
  
Jeff can actually hear the blood pounding in his ears and it's so quiet other than that, he's sure he's having some sort of episode. When has a Target parking lot ever been quiet?  
  
There's no way in hell he's breaking eye contact with her to assess things though. The second he looks away, the second she realizes this is probably a bad idea.  
  
And it might be -- it might be a bad idea, which is why he can't make this move. There's no way he's going to make it seem like he pressured her into anything. It's just so fucking  _touchy_ , this whole thing, with her age and his, and it shouldn't matter, but it does.  
  
Until it doesn't.  
  
Annie gives him her big smile, the one where she's doing something not mandated by any of her self-imposed rules, and practically launches herself across his car.  
  
The gear shift is still between them, but she's grabbing his face with her hands and his hands don't have much room to go anywhere but to  _her_  head and then they're clutching at each other, kissing like Jeff only lets himself think about when he's drunk.  
  
He immediately opens his mouth and she opens hers and he's surprised by the force of her tongue as it sweeps past his teeth.  
  
Jeff's reacting on instinct, moving his hands into Annie's hair and using the leverage to tilt her head for a better angle. He slides his tongue against hers and it's messy and wet and hot. She fucking  _shivers_  under him and he feels it like a hook, right at the bottom of his stomach, pulling up.  
  
She works herself up on her knees, so tiny in his car that she only has to break away from the kiss for a second before coming back at him. He gets his hands around her waist, leaning her into toward his body, breasts half pressed against his chest at a weird angle, but it's awesome. Super. Fucking. Awesome.  
  
There's not a lot of room for him to do anything significant, but he shifts toward her as much as he can, arching his lap up into her, which is -- not subtle.  
  
Just as plainly, she drops a hand to his upper thigh, bracing there before fucking  _squeezing_.  
  
He breaks off into a choking cough, more than a little startled. She pulls back to give him space and the way she's panting makes his skin feel like it's pulling too tight. He clears his throat and leans forward to kiss her again, but stops at a loud, annoying sound.  
  
What the --  
  
Annie shrieks, "Oh!" and stares with huge saucer eyes out the driver side window.  
  
Jeff turns to look and there's a big, heavy, black flashlight rapping against the window of his car. Beyond it, a security officer is crouched down, shaking his head. Jeff goes to put the window down to talk to him and -- apologize? -- when he realizes he hadn't even started the car. Annie pulls herself back into her seat as Jeff reaches to open the door instead.  
  
"Just go," Annie's voice sounds loud in the car, but it's how firm she says it that makes him blink.  
  
The security guy is saying something outside the window and Jeff's immediately shifting up, trying to get his keys out (which, with how tight his pants are presently, isn't easy). He finds them and gets them in the ignition in a few seconds and now security's yelling, something about indecency and Jeff's license plate and he's not welcome back.  
  
Jeff turns the car on and throws it in drive, pressing on the gas hard enough to peel out. He watches in the rearview mirror as the security guard waves his flashlight in the air, yelling after them. He looks toward Annie, who melts back in her seat.  
  
"I can't believe we just did that," and she says it all proud, which makes him proud.  
  
"Yeah, I guess I'll have to find some place else to buy paper towels and batteries," he smirks.  
  
"Where  _are_  the batteries?" It only takes a second and she's back to laser-focused Annie. He kind of appreciates it.  
  
"Uh, didn't you grab them?"  
  
"Nope."  
  
"Then I don't know. And Ponch back there made it pretty clear we're not allowed back."  
  
He looks for recognition on the CHiPs joke first (it doesn't come), but also to make sure she's not going to get upset that they have to go back to camp without the batteries.  
  
She shrugs, "Oh well," and he's relieved.  
  
And happy -- he's  _happy_.  
  
&&.  
  
By the time they park the car and walk out to camp, it's dark. Jeff can just make out the class, sitting in a circle, the professor telling some story in wild hand gestures. It's looks like somehow they got the fire working, Jeff can see the colors flapping in the moonlight.  
  
He touches Annie on the shoulder with one hand, pointing with the other, "Look, the fire's going."  
  
She squints, tilting her head, "How did they do -- oh my gosh, that's  _Pierce_."  
  
Jeff's head snaps up and, holy shit, it  _is_  Pierce. He's sitting cross-legged in the middle of the circle waving the strips of color around with his hands.  
  
Pierce stops, mid-wave, and cups a hand over his eyes, looking right at them. They've been spotted.  
  
A minute later they've reached the camp and instead of getting a bunch of questions about where they've been and what happened to them, they get a loud, disjointed story about what happened on the nature walk.  
  
Somehow Britta tripped into Shirley and Shirley fell, but didn't hurt herself and then Pierce tried to administer CPR anyway and now Shirley's at home, excused from the final, and Pierce is acting as the fire to avoid failing -- or expulsion.  
  
What Jeff takes away from this story is -- Annie's got a tent to herself.  
  
(They end up back in the car anyway because it's cold. This time it's a park ranger.)  
  
  
&&.


End file.
